


Some Time Just After Noon in the Offices of Kenge and Carboy

by bethfrish



Category: Bleak House - Charles Dickens, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-11
Updated: 2005-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethfrish/pseuds/bethfrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange breed, lawyers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Time Just After Noon in the Offices of Kenge and Carboy

Some time just after noon in the offices of Kenge and Carboy, Mr. Kenge himself approaches a young man by the name of Guppy and deposits a folder on the counter in front of him. 

"A new applicant," explains Mr. Kenge, drumming on the stack of papers with his fingertips. "Of the lawyer variety.” A hand lands persuasively on the gentleman's back. "Guppy, you are to show him around the office. That's a good chap. Show him how we conduct matters here at Kenge and Carboy. I've organized his files here for you to look over, should the mood strike you. Seems like a good fellow, from what I can tell. And where will I be, you ask?" A shake of the head. "I have neither the time nor the charm of youth—such as you possess—to make a proper impression at the moment. Do show him around. The city as well, if you like. Thank you, Guppy. He'll be here any minute." 

Mr. Guppy stares at the files with distrust, but before he can turn around to voice his opinion, Mr. Kenge has already pulled a well-timed vanishing act. In his place stands a man of about forty, neatly dressed, decidedly French. 

"Ah!" Guppy jumps from his stool. "Mr.—uh—" glancing hastily at the topmost sheet of paper, "Mr. Pontmercy!" Mr. Guppy extends his hand, smiling thinly because, as an Englishman, he is expected to treat the French with something akin only to manufactured politeness. "William Guppy, pleased to make your acquaintance." 

Pontmercy returns the handshake, glancing about the room with an empty look. "Mr. Guppy," he says finally. 

Mr. Guppy rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. "Ah, Mr. Kenge is—indisposed at the moment. I've been asked to play tour guide in his place." Silence from Pontmercy. "Ah, well then." Mr. Guppy motions to his desk. "This would be my desk. For writing and all that. But that wouldn't interest you, would it, as you'll no doubt have a desk of your own." 

"I would imagine," says Pontmercy after a long silence and with that peculiar accent. 

Mr. Guppy shows him into one of the vacant offices, trying in vain to push a pile of rubbish off to the side with his toe. "So you're from France, eh?" he asks, hoping to inject some life into the conversation. "You've practiced there as well, I imagine?" he adds, quite forgetting to wait for the first response. 

"I've practiced law in France for twenty years," Pontmercy answers, peering over at the garbage Mr. Guppy is trying to obscure with his foot. "I—wished to relocate." 

Mr. Guppy waits for more, but no more comes. "Strange one, this baguette," he mumbles under his breath. "Well, you'll like it here, in any case," a little louder. "Both overseas and in the office. This one will most likely be yours, by the way. The office, that is. It's a nice space. Has a window." Mr. Guppy motions to said window, with its view of brown, flaking brick. 

He turns around and catches Pontmercy staring at him, or staring blankly in his direction, in any case. "So, ah, what do you think?" Mr. Guppy offers, looking away at a dirty spot on the ceiling. "Acceptable terms? It's not so bad, this place." 

Pontmercy nods slowly, his face an unreadable shade of blank. "I wouldn't mind seeing the area, if you have the time." 

Mr. Guppy pretends to scrutinize the clock on the mantelpiece. Clearly beyond the scope of his duties as assigned by Mr. Kenge, but he would not be opposed to the fresh air. "If you like," he consents. Pontmercy replaces his hat on his head. 

"Strange fellow," Mr. Guppy thinks again as he shows his guest the way out. "And upsettingly pretty for a man." 

He plays leader with anecdotal descriptions and contemplative chin strokes, leading Pontmercy up and down the streets, in and out of shops, during which Pontmercy himself remains unnervingly silent. Mr. Guppy waves at the fog, circling his head like a lost bird that has the unfortunate reputation of causing disease of the lungs. "London," he comments, unsure if there are such thick occurrences in France. He purchases two sandwiches (charged to Messrs. Kenge and Carboy, without question) and distributes them on the park bench designated as their final destination. 

Pontmercy (queer fellow, Guppy's decided) asks, while Mr. Guppy's mouth is full of smoked turkey, "Is that an inn over there?" 

Guppy takes his time swallowing. "Yes," he answers, and is met only with a lip twitch on the part of his companion. 

Mr. Guppy returns to the offices of Kenge and Carboy forty-five minutes later, alone, and immediately returns to his work as if he had never left. At some point he notices that his shirt buttons are all askew, and can only mutter, "Strange breed, the French." 

Pontmercy never does respond to the job offer, and it is eventually discovered, some weeks later, that he resides in a suburb of Paris with his wife and three children, none of whom appeared to be mentioned in his letter of application. 


End file.
